Hasmia's story
by totallymagical
Summary: This is a story about Ari's mother. I wanted to tell her story because not many people have. Contains child abuse. I own nothing.


**Hasmia's story**

My name is Hasmia Hasswari I'm 16 and I live in Saudi Arabia. The weather is hot and tides are unchanging. I've grown up a Muslim and I have had faith to a certain extent my whole life. But my faith is different from that of my father's he believes that violence is the only way to get people to listen to Islam. I just believe that people should have a choice of what they believe.

Unfortunately his violent ways don't stop with religion. As far back as I can remember he's been hurting me and my mother whenever we didn't do something that conforms exactly to Islam. This is a little weird to me because women aren't given the freedom to leave their own homes here. So doing anything that disrespects Islam would be difficult if not, impossible.

We live on the outskirts of Riyadh in a small house that barely fits all three of us. This house has seen all the violence, blood, and tears. I receive more abuse than my mother because I have ideas that my father says a woman shouldn't have. I want to be a doctor. I want to go to school and have a life.

I guess my main goal though is to defy what I've been told my whole life. That women are basically human incubators and all we are good for producing Arab sons. If it was just my father telling me this I would just say it's just part of his warped thinking but unfortunately that is what most men here think or at least the ones I know.

I woke up as the first streaks of sun brightened the sky and set out to do my chores. I swept mopped and dusted alongside my mother which is what we did every day. When that was done my father got up and left the house and went to what he called work. What he's really going to do is something I have suspected he has been doing my entire life. He's going to meet with men to discuss the best ways to hurt people with bombs or guns or anything that they can get their hands on.

I don't have any proof nor do I know how to get some it's just a suspicion. I barely talk when I'm home which is all the time and only time my mother seems to talk to me is when she's telling me how I'll have to treat my husband. But we have a silent understanding when it comes to my father when he hurts her I am the one who puts the ice on her bleeding lip or stitches up the cuts or I try to help the cracked ribs.

I'm broken out of my trance when my mother said "Hasmia we should get dinner ready for your father. He'll be home soon." I nod. And we walk over to the tiny kitchen and start preparing dinner. I don't know what came over me but all of the sudden I asked her "Do you ever think about a life different from this?" she stopped cutting for a moment. "What do you mean?" "I mean a life that doesn't involve being subservient to your husband." I can almost hear her gasp. She moves over to the stove "this is the life Allah sees as good for women." I defiantly said "I don't remember seeing that in the Quran." She wouldn't know if it wasn't my mother can't read or write. "It is just the way it is Hasmia." She told me sternly but it also seemed like a warning.

Just like most nights after prayers we ate in silence I went to my room. I sat down on my bed and wondered if maybe my father was right. I wondered if women should really be subservient to men and if violence was the only way to get people to listen. I shook these thoughts out of my head I know that Allah preaches peace above all and there's no excuse for murdering someone just because they believe differently then you.

As I said my mother can't read or write I can. I went to school until I was about six I honestly don't know why my father let me go. Even after he took me out I started reading everything I could. There aren't many books in my house but I still read them. Sometimes I even get books from the neighbor.

Our neighbor Dr. Ari Atiya is the only reason I'm still alive. He's the reason I want to be a doctor. When my father hits me he usually doesn't stop until he's broken something. One time he broke my arm because when we were out I gave a man directions. The day after that I was outside sweeping the doorway and Dr. Atiya saw me. He very carefully walked over and looked at my arm he very quickly snapped it back into place. He did all that without saying a word to me. What he did would be considered at the very least immoral if not illegal. The thing that shocked me was that he helped me and he didn't have to. He started helping me whenever I had obvious injuries and he would teach me how to fix some myself. It's a miracle we haven't been caught.

About a week later when I was washing dishes I heard my father's voice "Hasmia I want you to meet someone." I turned around my father was standing there and there was another man with him. "Hasmia this is Abdul." He said gesturing to the man beside him. "Hello Abdul can I get you anything?" "No I'm fine." Abdul said. My father took a deep breath and said "Abdul will be your husband Hasmia." I froze in shock.


End file.
